Boundries
by rrakkma
Summary: Drabbles and Short Works.  Most Recent-"First Impressions" and "Practice"
1. Rival

The Prince and his insect companion sit, on opposite sides of the table. She interrupts him, constantly, and spits venom whenever he tries to speak over her. He doesn't respond to the insult, just raises his voice until they are both yelling, gesturing wildly at the map of Remora between them.

She surrenders first, laughing and spreading her four arms wide, and the Vizier, watching them from a doorway, realizes that it may already be too late. It was his own failing. Even now, she is too alien to be female, all eyes and cartilage and small glittering teeth, immature and, he'd assumed, of marginal importance.

She stands, grabbing her bag from the back of her chair, and wordlessly extends a hand to Pyrus, who hands her the datapad he's been holding-and smirks when she yelps and nearly drops it.

She glares at him, attempting to strike him with the datapad, cursing him as he turns the blow away with the side of his arm. The volume rises as they trade insults with grins on their faces-_Insect, Matchstick, Hotheaded, Spoiled, You-don't-know-who-you're-dealing-with._

And the Prince, who is unfamiliar with the daughters of rivals, who never saw the girl's mother smile as she promised death to all who would threaten hers, really doesn't.

Thank the Inferno for at least making her untouchable.

He catches her in the hallway, tapping his staff against the ground to get her attention. "You should hunt on your own planet, Ice Flea."

"I'm quite sure I don't know what you're talking about." Her hands, tucked against her back, contract into fists, as she lifts her head and turns on her heel, prim and composed. "And I'll thank you not to address me that way."

"You forget yourself. You're very far from home. Meddle in the affairs of other worlds, and you'll find your father's protection matters very little."

"I don't need my father's protection." She spits before thinking, and hesitates, unsure of her own power. "Does Pyrus know you're trying to undermine his work? Or are you doing this on your own?"

There is a brief second before she realizes she's said exactly the right thing, when she is still a child, not a shadow of a future Queen who demands a measure of his Prince's loyalty.

It passes quickly. "I'm warning you. Now get out of my way."

Still, she steps around him, and he grins at that. Not that Queen yet.

"Lady Zera." She pauses, looking back over her shoulder as he speaks. "You resemble your mother terribly."


	2. Jubilation

**Jubilation**

It's easy enough to find the files-they took so many pictures. They thought they were making history. A lot of them are pictures of Sternum, sure. He was still playing second fiddle to his brother then. Can't have those circulating, but there are more than enough that the kid won't be too suspicious.

He doesn't like to talk about the dead. There's no point to it-they're gone, and after a few years, they're not even real people. Nobody wants to remember the dead as they really were-they want saints or demons, all the messy edges rubbed off. All that intelligence you collected in order to deal with them-wasted! And worse, all declared_ in bad taste._

Just look at them! Xenon, caught slightly unaware, her eyes narrowed and her antennae pressed against her forehead as she looks out over planet Fire. Standing angled away from the camera, her hands clasped behind her back, one hand holding the other wrist. She's tense, sweating, and irritated by the heat. And why wouldn't she be? Even Cryos retreats after an hour or two.

You want to see Cryos tense and irritated, remind him that Xenon was ten, fifteen years younger than he was. Hot for an Ice chick, despite having no tits. Remind him that she was smart and ambitious as well as sweet. That she was minor nobility _at best_, and that she did very well for herself. Tell him that there's absolutely _no question _where Zera gets her mouth from.

Tell him Zera got her looks. (Hell, tell the kid that's what Zera will look like in ten years. Ask him if he likes it, watch him squirm.)

Tell him that she loved her husband and her daughter and her planet, until a sonic canon pulped her insides and she died bleeding from every hole.

…

See? There's no_ fun _in talking about the dead.

Or the Kid's folks. Lahar, Tephra. He'd like to see them like this, hand in hand, welcoming guests to their planet. Honourable, charming, gracious hosts. Good canoli. Try not to focus on how tired his father looks. On the uncertain look on his mother's face, on how tightly she grips his hand. He remembers what happens next. How she tried to argue against letting the other monarchs bring their honour guards onto the planet. She was probably right, and what would have happened if they'd refused? Business as usual? Was that something to be afraid of, when there was no Beast Planet waiting to gobble them up?

But he'd overruled her. He'd staked so much on this, and he tended to over-rely on his charm and work without a backup plan.

He was wrong, he took a rifle round to the skull for his trouble, and he was the lucky one.

They died, others lived, and you picked up the pieces and soldiered on. If you were smart, you polished those pieces till they were sharp as weapons. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. There's no point wondering what would have happened had Tekla crashed the Golden Jubilation.

Or do, imagine what it would've been like. Go through the pictures and pick out the good ones, the ones where they're smiling, where they're full of hope. Show them to the kids, so they can pretend to remember.

Just don't fool yourself.


	3. First Impressions

Once, when Zera was small enough to cradle in one arm, he'd had to sweep her up and and away from the console before she got into the battlefield footage. She struggled for a moment, then went completely limp. "I want to know what they look like." She whined, hanging upside down. "Let me see!"

He'd fetched her some proper pictures-proper enough, Fire's soldiers and diplomats, if not their people. She stared at them for a long time, asking him questions. Does the flame hurt their heads? (No.) Are they supposed to be that colour? (Yes.) Do they eat people? (_No, _and anyone who tells you that they do is lying._) _ Are they tall? (No.) Why don't they have antennae? (They just don't.)

"Then how can you tell if they're mad?"

"Trust me, you can tell." He couldn't quite keep the dry tone out of his voice. "But…perhaps we can live in peace someday."

"If you make peace, do you think any of them will move here?"

"I very much doubt it." He smiled down at her, stroking her forehead. "They'd find it very cold here."

"Cold _now?" _ And she pointed at the window, where the summer sun had warmed the roof, allowing massive icicles to form.

"Yes, cold now. Cold always."

She cocked her head to the side, looking at the picture. "They must be _very _stupid there."


	4. Practice

They sparred almost daily, complaining about how slow change was coming and how unnecessary so much of their work was until the whirling and striking consumed all of their breath.

She envied his mastery of the form, the way his art tied him to his ancestors, how he was seen as _dedicated_ rather than _odd_. He knew what he was doing-his motions were seamless, perfect. Her own style (the word was a stretch) was a mix of Jade's utilitarian technique and her own underhanded tricks.

"What do you think this is, a dance parlour?"

He won, on average, seven times out of every ten. When she won, she gloated, and when she lost, she insisted it didn't matter because she could out-shoot him any day of the week.

* * *

They shared interests, history and weaponry and military strategy, and played out private war-games on datapads held in their laps.

She read the treaties Femur prepared before Pyrus signed them, and laughed when he asked her if she found anything.

He helped her prepare her speeches, and laughed when she asked him for a polite way to say _fuck off_ in public.

* * *

A few months after the disappearance (she would not say _defeat) _ of the Beast Planet, she started to grow.

Apparently, maintaining any kind of dignity during the process was impossible.

Her skin cracked and flaked from from her joints. Every morning she peeled off what she could, but as soon as the skin hardened, she'd shot up another two inches.

She ached all over, and worst of all, she started loosing fights she should have won.

He threw her four times in the first fifteen minutes. And in their fifth match, she tripped.

"I do not need a break." She muttered as he sat down beside her.

"Well, I could use one." He quietly sipped his drink. After a moment, he nudged her arm, stretching his out besides hers. "You're going to have a pretty powerful reach."

* * *

She didn't quite have enough time to run back to her ship for more nanites, so she went to the meeting with a bruise on her arm.

"That from Pyrus?" Femur slid up beside her. "Always knew you were going to be a wild thing, but…"

She reached over and grabed him by the fronds under his chin, pulling hard and using the momentum to flip him over the table.

He hit the wall just as Pyrus walked in.

Femur brushed himself off as he rolled to his feet. "Bad news, kid. You've got a crazy one."

Pyrus laughed it off. "You just noticed? She's been training with Jade for…"

She shook her head, turning to grab a datapad from her bag-and caught Sternum looking directly at her.

She nodded, once, and never made that mistake again.

* * *

She caught his arm, twisting it behind his back and pushing him to his knees. Their staves fell to the ground with a clatter. "Got you!"

He tested her grip as she shoved him forward, her knee pushing into the small of his back. "Yeah, you win that one."

She gave him a final push as she let go. "You needent sound so surprised. You left your left side wide open."

"You know, I really shouldn't be." He took her hand, letting her pull him up. There was a note of hesitation in his voice that she didn't trust. "Listen, Zera…"

"_Don't._"

"I was going to ask you if you wanted to go shooting tomorrow." He was still holding her hand. She stared at it. "No need to be so prickly."

"Have you forgotten already? I'm a much, much better shot than you are."

"So what? I'm a better staff fighter than you…"

"Not _much _better."

"The point is…I don't do this to get one over on you." He squeezed her hand gently, pulling her closer. She could still feel heat through the forcefield generator, completely divorced from pain. The sweat on her palm sizzled.

"It's going to come back."

He nodded, leaning in and gently nuzzling her cheek. She laughed in response, turning and kissing him hard enough to leave her mouth dry and raw.

"Alright then." She pushed him away. "Next round."


End file.
